Waking
Get up from your bed,
go
out from your house,
follow the path you know so well,
so well that you
now see nothing
and hear nothing
unless something can cry loudly to
you,
and for you it seems
even then
no cry is louder than yours
and
in your own darkness
cries have gone unheard
as long as you can
remember.
These are hard paths we
tread
but they are green
and lined with leaf mould
and we must love
their contours
as we love the body branching
with its veins and tunnels of
dark earth.
I know that
sometimes
your body is hard like a stone
on a path that storms break
over,
embedded deeply
into that something that you think is you,
and
you will not move
while the voice all around
tears the air
and fills
the sky with jagged light.
But sometimes
unawares
those sounds seem to descend
as if kneeling down into you
and
you listen strangely caught
as the terrible voice moving
closer
halts,
and in the silence
now arriving
whispers
Get up, I depend
on you
utterly.
Everything you need
you had
the moment before
you were
born.
~ David Whyte
~
(Where Many Rivers
Meet)
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